


I'll Do Anything You Say (if you say it with your hands)

by graceless_wolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DEFINITELY S8 FINALE SPOILERS, M/M, Wow i wrote a thing, its s9 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceless_wolf/pseuds/graceless_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel have never been good at talking about feelings. It's a lot easier to say what you mean without actually saying what you mean sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Do Anything You Say (if you say it with your hands)

**Author's Note:**

> written as a prompt on tumblr for fic wars   
> also this is unbeta'd! so all mistakes are mine :)

Cas isn’t really sure when it starts; when Dean starts telling him things and he doesn’t try and convince him, or press for reasoning, he just replies. They have regular conversations, of course. They’ll discuss things and tell stories for hours on end. Castiel could talk to Dean for an eternity and he wouldn’t tire of it. But there’s something else they do, when they aren’t talking.

 

It will start with Dean looking at Cas over the breakfast table and saying, “My mother used to tell me that angels were watching over me.”

 

It’s not a question and, for a second, Castiel really isn’t sure what to do with it. It doesn’t sound like something too important, out of context. But Cas knows that this isn’t just a piece of information. It’s a piece of memory, of soul. It’s something that briefly triggers images of a blonde woman standing over a crib, smiling at the infant inside while a toddler’s chubby fingers clutch at her hair. It’s Dean opening up something within Cas and himself and admitting that he wants to know. He wants to know if his mother was right. He wants to know, if she was right, why they didn’t save her.

 

“They were.” _I was._ He says.

 

__

 

It takes a few days for it to happen again, three, to be exact. They’re in the library, and Dean is doing his best to help Cas find a book he and Sam need for research. They aren’t speaking much, save for a comment or two on the case, or Dean’s cooking at breakfast, or Cas not sleeping that well.

 

“It’s strange being human.” Dean says softly.

 

It’s an “I’m sorry.” It’s forgiveness and understanding. It’s Dean needing Cas to know that if he could have done anything to change it, he would have. It’s a broken chord of the piano in the upstairs parlor that Cas had started playing in the evenings and he had been playing quickly one night, too quickly, too determined, and a finger had slipped. Dean had curled a hand around his shoulder, warm and secure and Cas had sighed against it, fingers stilling on the keys.

 

“Yes, it is.” He says.

 

It’s “You don’t have to be.” It’s knowledge and acceptance of his fate. It’s Cas needing Dean to know that he couldn’t have done anything, and he can’t blame himself for Castiel’s mistakes, though Cas doesn’t doubt that he will. It’s a burnt pancake in the kitchen when Sam had mentioned something about Dean’s cooking getting better and Dean’s hand had tightened on the counter and he smiled a tight lipped smile that remembered dry cereal in motel rooms and Cas had slipped behind him and turned the stove off, removed the spatula from Dean’s hand.

 

\--

 

The next time it happens, it’s been a week and a half. Cas has felt tense, waiting for it. The case had been easily solved (a Woman in White, Sam and Dean were both nostalgic for days where that was the hardest spook to beat) and they most likely had a few days of downtime before Sam dredged up something else for them to kill. Dean’s half watching a documentary on New Orleans when Cas walks through the main room with his night time tea in his hands.

 

He’s almost out of the room when Dean says it, so quiet that Cas could almost believe he wasn’t supposed to here. But by now he knows Dean better than that.

 

“You left.” Dean says.

 

It’s regret and bitterness and the half bottle of Jack Dean drank before sitting down that night. It’s prayers Castiel couldn’t answer because he wasn’t allowed. It’s cold nights and watching Dean pace through open windows and mutter Castiel’s name like it was a curse he couldn’t rid himself of. It’s fists that punch holes in walls and words that punch holes in hearts when he tells Dean he has to leave again. It’s an “I love you,” and the force of that realization knocks the mug of tea out of his hands, but he doesn’t even wince when it hits the ground, liquid sloshing and ceramic shattering.

 

Cas swallows, “I came back.”

 

It’s a promise to always return, no matter the distance. It’s knowing and hoping and breaking free of rules he was bound by for a single human soul that beckoned him from beyond even the gates of heaven. It’s whispering apologies in cool breezes on hot days and in the breath of air that kissed Dean’s face before he slept every night Castiel was gone. It’s “I’ve loved you always,” but with the way Dean rolls his eyes and returns to his television, Cas doesn’t think he knows.

 

\--

 

Cas doesn’t know how to talk to Dean normally anymore. He’ll duck his head when Dean asks him questions and he’ll leave rooms only because Dean entered them. He knows Dean knows what he’s doing, and now that he’s been given time to think about it, he’s almost sure Dean knows why.

 

Then he gets tired of it. He loves Dean, yes. He doesn’t see why that would really shock anyone. Of course he loves Dean. He’s loved Dean since the beginning of himself, when he would look down to earth and know that there was something there for him. He has loved Dean since before he rescued Dean from Hell. He loves Dean more every day and doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand how this vibrant, beautiful soul doesn’t realize it. He doesn’t need to understand it, though, for it to make sense.

 

He shows up in Dean’s doorway that night, and his presence alone wakes Dean.

 

“I’m tired,” he says.

 

“So am I,” Dean smiles.

 

He makes room in the bed and Castiel lies there awkwardly for a few seconds before Dean is sprawling himself across Cas’ chest, head tucked in the junction of Cas’ neck. Castiel’s legs entwine with Dean’s, one hand wrapping around his hunter’s waist, the other carding through his hair.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Dean breathes against his skin.

 

_I love you._

 

“Says you,” Cas mumbles into his hair.

 

_And I, you. Always._

 

Dean falls asleep smiling. Cas stays awake for a few moments, watching as Dean’s breath evens out. He’s quick to follow, the warmth of Dean’s skin and the lullaby of his heart beat soothe Cas into the best sleep he’s ever had.

 

\--

 

They don’t say things like “I love you.” They don’t need to (and I love you seems rather pointless when you’ve been through hell and back together, literally and figuratively). Dean says I love you in the way he makes Castiel’s coffee in the morning, kissing him before setting it on the table (2 sugars, no milk.) Cas says I love you in the way his hands are always stretching, reaching for skin.

 

“Funny,” Dean says one night, “wouldn’t peg you as a cuddler.”

 

_Don’t leave again. Don’t let go._

“I’ve never been one to be pegged easily,” Cas replies easily.

 

_I couldn’t. Not now that I’m home._


End file.
